


Nice Day For A Red Wedding

by Helicake752



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Long Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helicake752/pseuds/Helicake752
Summary: “Let me get this straight,” Jason said slowly, after taking a moment to process everything he’d just heard. “You want Red Hood to come to this wedding to help keep Bruce and the rest of the Gotham aristocracy safe because Batman is too busy playing best man to do anything?”“Nope,” Dick replied serenely.“We want Jason Todd to come as Bruce’s family friend andesteemedguest. And if he brings Red Hood as his plus one, I won’t complain,” Tim assured.--There's a wedding in Gotham, and anyone who's anyone is going. Which means a certain playboy billionaire has to let his family take care of things for the night. It can't be that bad, right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> HOWDY I'M KY AND I LIKE BATMAN
> 
> this is my first try at a longform fic like this! I hope it works out, lol. It's not finished yet, but I do plan to stick to a schedule (Famous last words, I know). If all goes well, I should update semi-regularly, but who knows-- I did start this during finals week because I make good decisions.
> 
> Enjoy!

Family time was _not_ Jason Todd’s forte. Family was tricky enough _without_ spending time with them. At least, in his own personal experience. But there were some things he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he wanted to-- number one on that list of things being two of his brothers breaking and entering into his apartment at 4 AM.

“Dick. Drake,” He sighed, setting his bag of takeout on the counter. “Usually I love double-Ds, but right now? Not so much.”

“Heya, Jason,” Dick grinned, waving slightly from his spot on the sofa. Tim just nodded in acknowledgement, hugging one of the threadbare throw pillows to his chest. Surprisingly, neither one was in costume-- It really was Dick and Drake, not Nightwing and Red Robin. Somehow, it unsettled him more.

“What do you two want?” Jason demanded, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “Aren’t you busy being a Titan, and aren’t you… Uh… secret agent?”

“Damian’s in charge of that now, and Grayson’s been pretty public for about three months now. Among other things,” Tim huffed, rolling his eyes. It would have been irritating, if there had been any actual heat behind his words.

“So to answer your question, no we aren’t busy,” Dick said, “But even if we were, there’s always time for our favorite brother: Jason!” It was sweet for all of two seconds, before the meaning of his words fully sunk in. Jason let out a long sigh.  


Busted. Tim looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Tim. How the hell had they expected him not to figure it out? Dick let out a nervous cough, turning his head and motioning for Tim to spill it. Tim gave him such an affronted look, Jason couldn’t help but stifle a small laugh behind his hand.

“Fine, whatever, I’ll just tell him. Y’know Angus Ferguson?” Tim didn’t wait for Jason to affirm or deny before plowing onward. “He’s getting married. Shocker, I know. Well, the Wayne family got invited.”

There was a beat where none of them said anything. “...And?” Jason prompted. He only vaguely recalled this Ferguson guy. One of Bruce’s fellow billionaires, and part-time resident of Gotham City. Nothing noteworthy, beyond a couple petty break-ins. Which, for Gotham, wasn’t noteworthy.

“Aaaaand, the Wayne _family_ was invited,” Tim finished with a pointed look, resting his chin on the pillow. He suddenly looked so much younger, although he was only about two years younger than Jason himself. It really had been a while since he’d seen any of them. Still, Jason huffed, and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that got to do with me?” He growled. Dick sat up and pushed off the couch-- He’d never been good at sitting still-- and slung an arm around Jason, forceful enough that he couldn’t just push it off. Dammit, Grayson.

“It’s got everything to do with you, Mr. Wayne,” He hummed. “What’s a wedding without family?”

“Family? Yeah right. The only time we’re all one-big-happy is when Gotham’s on fire and Bruce is AWOL,” Jason scoffed. Across the room, Tim caught his eye, picking at his fingernails. He only did that when something was bothering him. Something was bothering Tim, and that was never good.

“Bold words from someone who sent me a birthday card,” Tim muttered, although Jason could tell it wasn’t what he’d been thinking about. His eyes flicked from side to side, refusing to focus for too long on one thing. What the hell was bothering Drake so much?

“Tell me straight, Grayson,” Jason growled, turning to face his older brother head-on. “What’s the mission?”

Like a house of cards, Dick’s face fell. Gotcha. Secret agent or not, the training was still there. Dick glanced sheepishly over to Tim, but this time it was Tim who coughed and looked away. Sometimes, it startled him how much like brothers they all acted.

“Fine. Intel says that about every criminal organization in the city is watching this wedding. As it stands? There’s no way any of Gotham’s finest are gonna be safe there,” Dick said, removing his arm from Jason’s shoulder. “And don’t call me Grayson.”

“Intel?” Jason prodded, but Dick didn’t give in. 

“ _Intel,_ ” He parroted, with a solemn look in his eyes.

“Oh, well that clears everything up,” Jason monotoned, rolling his eyes. “Tell Batman I said to fuck off. It’s not like he’s ever needed the help before. _I work alone,_ and all that.”

“Yeah, but… _We_ could use the help, y’know,” Tim added, finally dropping the pillow and standing up, fixing Jason with his best version of puppy eyes. He shared a meaningful look with Dick for a moment. “We need someone we can trust.”

“Why don’t Batman and Robin just handle it?” Jason sulked, averting his eyes from Drake’s pleading gaze. “I thought they were prepared for anything.”

“Batman is,” Tim agreed. “But Bruce Wayne is not.”

“And Bruce Wayne is going to be awfully busy,” Dick cut in, an amused glimmer in his eye, “Acting as the best man.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jason said slowly, after taking a moment to process everything he’d just heard. “You want Red Hood to come to this wedding to help keep Bruce and the rest of the Gotham aristocracy safe because Batman is too busy playing best man to do anything?”  
“Nope,” Dick replied serenely. 

“We want Jason Todd to come as Bruce’s family friend and _esteemed_ guest. And if he brings Red Hood as his plus one, I won’t complain,” Tim assured. 

“Me either,” Dick agreed. Jason looked between the two of them for a moment, mulling over everything they’d just said. A damn wedding, huh. At least his brothers never kept it boring.  
“Fine,” He relented. “But I’m making it a shotgun wedding. And I’m bringing my own shotgun.”


	2. Chapter One: A Mild-Manored Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's home! And his brothers give him a warm welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan is to post once a week, but I'm A) slow at writing and B) deep in the throes of AP Exams (Shoutout to Lit) so who knows my goals are kinda up in the air. This chapter is shorter than I wanted but sometimes it just be like that.
> 
> As for the question of Jaydick or nah, I think I'll include it, but it'll be a somewhat slow burn, and secondary to the main plot (As much as I can manage, because we all know I'm a romantic sap). If y'all want to see any others, just let me know, because weirdly enough I actually like most of the ships for the batfam? Excluding Damian, because he's like. A baby.

The Wayne manor looked more like a mausoleum than a house, even in the daytime, and if Tim hadn’t known Bruce Wayne as well as he did, he may have suspected it was on accident. The caste-iron gates wrapped around the property like it was a graveyard, and in a way it was: The death of a civilian. Overdramatic? Yes. But that was Bruce for you.

Tim felt like a little kid again, shyly clutching at the straps of his backpack as he looked up at the imposing building, memories mixing with fantasies until he couldn’t exactly decipher the two anymore. He’d been away from Gotham for long enough that it didn’t seem so bad anymore. It was easy to like his home until he had to come back.

It didn’t help that he was here on business. Robin-- _Red Robin_ \-- had been called in for a mission, and he’d brought along his civvies, the ones called Tim Drake. Still, his heart tugged at the sight of the mansion.

So Tim braced himself and punched in the passcode for the gate, beginning his trek up to the front door. He could feel the eyes of every surveillance device (That he’d designed, thanks) watching, following his path, and Tim briefly wondered how many angles Damian was staring at him from.

“Y’know, if you’re gonna stare, you could at least open the door for me,” Tim huffed, finally reaching the heavy oak doors that were only a mask for the reinforced steel plating behind them. “Like a gentleman, or whatever.”

Instead, he heard the subtle _click_ and _whir_ of the locking mechanisms (Also designed by Tim, thank you). Yep, Damian was watching alright. He narrowed his eyes, and quietly reminded himself that he should not give the finger to preteens-- only one more year before Robin met another bird. 

“I’m not in the mood, brat,” Tim called, wearily slipping his backpack off one shoulder, and fruitlessly twisting the doorknob. “Open up already.” As if in response, the window shades lowered, ominously sealing around the sills (Tim really needed to stop designing new security tech).

“Demon,” Tim muttered under his breath, turning to enter through a side door. The closest one was technically a garage side-entrance, but it wasn’t like Tim was trying to make some grand appearance. As he approached the unassuming sliding doors, he heard the distinct sound of a mechanical gear grinding into place, and goddamnit, Damian, this was getting  
ridiculous.

“You’d better hope you’ve gotten better at hiding,” Tim grumbled, reaching into the outside pouch on his bag and pulling out a small gadget that he and Steph called the ‘life-unfucker’ but that Bruce and Barbara insisted was actually called a ‘Remote Disruptor’-- A rose by any other name, Tim figured. He pressed a couple of buttons, and pointed it unceremoniously at the door, expressionless as the door shuddered, groaned, and finally fell off its hinges with a dull ‘thud.’

“You have ten seconds before I kick your ass,” Tim declared, stepping into the garage and slinging his backpack to the ground.

“And you have even less!”

That was all the warning Tim had before Damian descended from the rafters, making a swift grab for his shoulders. Luckily, Tim wasn’t an idiot, and easily sidestepped Damian’s assault, watching with nothing but exasperation as Damian rolled back onto his feet.

“Do we have to do this every time I come to visit?” He asked, ducking a jab and then a kick as Damian continued his assault. “Because I come to visit, like, a lot.”

“You’re breaking and entering,” Damian growled, feinting a left hook and then following with a right jab. 

“And you’re, what?” Tim asked, rolling his eyes and batting lightly at Damian’s leg as it flew past his shoulder. He was getting faster, Tim had to admit, but as he’d said, this wasn’t the first time they’d had done this. “Defending your property?”

“From an imposter!” Damian snarled, lunging for Tim, who decided he had had enough. Damian was a good fighter, no question, but he was still only four-foot-six and completely unarmed, which made it exceptionally easy for Tim to catch him by the arm, hook a foot around his ankle, and give him a hard enough shove to send him flying face-first into the concrete floor of the Wayne garage. Damian wasn’t the only one who knew how to throw a punch.

“You-- you jerk!” Damian yelled, rolling over and attempting to stand. “How dare you--”

“Attack the son of the Bat, the true heir to the Wayne family empire, I’ll regret the day I was born, blah blah blah,” Tim finished for him, waving his hand as he spoke. “I’ll dare until you break a hundred pounds, short-stack.”

There was a beat of silence while Damian fumed, glowering at Tim as he rose to his feet. It was a little bit unnerving, seeing Damian out of his Robin costume-- Tim liked to assume that the brat lived in it full-time, just to prove a point. He almost looked like a normal thirteen-year-old boy, which was a thought Tim never had and never wanted to have about Damian Wayne, ever.

“I assume you’re here to speak to father?” Damian finally said, voice icy and dripping with disdain. Tim shrugged, running a hand through his hair as he thought about his answer. If he said yes, would the little shit attack him again? Best to play it straight, even if it meant pounding Damian’s face into the ground again. _A fair price,_ Tim decided.

“No cigar. Is Dick around?” He drawled, turning to grab his backpack from its place against the wall.

“Grayson arrived yesterday,” Damian replied. “Which is why we don’t need another Robin-retiree hanging around.”

“Ouch. Your words. They wound me,” Tim deadpanned. “I’m wounded. Call a doctor, I’m bleeding out. Is he in the Batcave?”

“Who knows,” Damian sneered, rapidly losing interest in the conversation. With a slight wince (Tim noted with a creeping feeling of satisfaction in his stomach), Damian turned and strode into the house-- far too haughty for a scrawny punk who just got his ass kicked, in Tim’s opinion. 

_“Demon,”_ Tim repeated, rolling his eyes and following suit. The Manor was as spotless as ever, no doubt thanks to Alfred’s expert care, but there was a certain staleness to the air inside, a reminder that the entire house was nothing more than a prop-- a facade for what lay beneath. Nothing more than a happy little dollhouse for the family to make believe, to pretend in front of anybody who wanted to see inside.

_Let them see if they want,_ Tim mused as he adjusted the hands of Bruce’s grandfather clock, the one that stood in the study, _as long as they don’t see too much._ There was a loud chime, and a rumbling sound that could not have been good for the drywall, and then Tim was shuffling down the dark, familiar passageway into the Batcave. He could hear the quiet chittering of the bats up above, and smiled. 

_Home is where the bats are._

“Dick?” He yelled, climbing down the stairs as fast as he could without tripping (It was a long way down, Tim happened to know very well). “You down here?”

“No solicitors,” Dick shouted back. “If you’re selling something I don’t want it.”

Tim grinned. “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior?”

“I think I’m alright, thanks.”

Tim finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and looked around, searching for Dick amidst the clutter of the cave. There was no sign of him, except for an abandoned box of Cap’n Crunch sitting on the console. Tim raised an eyebrow, but refused to comment.

“You’re not up the T-Rex again, are you?” Tim wondered aloud, turning in a slow circle. “It’s bad for his digestion, y’know.”

“Depends what you mean by ‘up,’” Dick replied, and oh, of course, there he was: hanging upside down, feet hooked around the T-rex’s head, waving cheekily down at Tim. There was no way Dick just... found that comfortable, there absolutely wasn’t-- he had to be doing it to show off.

“You want to do anything else to prove you’re still an acrobat, or…?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Obligingly, Dick released his hold on the giant reptile, and landed with a summersault that turned into a one-armed handstand. Tim gave him a polite golf-clap.

“So, what’ve you got so far? Anything new?” Tim asked, sidling over to the well-worn office chair that sat in front of the Batcomputer. As cool as the Teen Titan’s database was, there was nothing that could compare to the beast that was the Batcomputer-- a monstrosity of cables, coding, and shortcuts built by so many different people over the years that it was impossible for anybody who wasn’t privy to each individual idiosyncrasy to even open up a web browser, let alone parse the piles of encryptions hiding the classifieds. Barbara called it annoying, Tim called it beautiful. Bruce called it the worst thing he’d ever seen.

“Nothing we didn’t get from the police already,” Dick sighed. “It’s a small-time gang, at least here in Gotham-- small branch of a big tree, rooted in Metropolis.”

“I thought Metropolis didn’t have crime,” Tim murmured, hunkering down in his favorite chair and squinting at the myriad of screens as they flashed intel at him. “It looks like everything these guys do winds up with the police making arrests _en masse._ Not very good at being criminals, huh?”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” Dick hummed, suddenly right behind Tim’s chair, leaning forward so his face was only inches from Tim’s. “Bad at being bad-- Guess that makes them good?”

“It makes them stupid,” Tim replied flatly. “A little bit _too_ stupid.”

“Too stupid?” Dick echoed, tilting his head to the side inquisitively. “How so?”

“Well,” Tim mumbled, pulling himself closer to the screen and hunching over the keyboard as he started his search. “Most criminals don’t like being caught. Not fun, not productive, and an all-around hassle. So you’d think that after the first couple of failures, they’d try something new.”

“Maybe they can’t,” Dick suggested. He crossed his arms over the back of Tim’s headrest and looked up at the files on screen, hovering over Tim like some kind of weird umbrella. “Small time thugs, not making money, but definitely trying. What if they’re already doing the best they can?”

“Then they should quit their day jobs,” Tim murmured, nibbling his bottom lip as he focused on the police records in front of him. “If they’re really so terrible at crime, why do they keep trying to hit it big-time?”

“What do you mean?” Dick hummed.

“I mean, if you can’t pull off grand larson, why not try petty thievery first? The only thing these guys have looks like…” Tim nodded to himself absently as he scanned the records once more, just to be sure. “Yep. they’re all pretty major operations.”

“I dunno,” Dick mumbled. “They _are_ an offshoot organization. Maybe they’re a small-time gang with big-time orders?”

“Or they’re not in it for the money,” Tim proposed, pushing away from the keyboard with an air of finality. “Either way, something’s up. There’s got to be more than meets the eye.”

“There does?” Dick laughed, leaning forward so his chin rested on Tim’s head. “Not everything’s a conspiracy, y’know.”

“But everything could be,” Tim shot back. Dick just chuckled and let go of the chair, taking a step back and shrugging.

“I hope you’re wrong, but you’re usually not. Looks like we might want to pay these guys a visit.”

“It sure does. Do you think they’re free tonight? The…” Tim groaned aloud, burying his face in his hands. “Are they seriously called _‘The Foul Fifth?’”_

“Self-titled.”

“Clearly,” Tim grunted. He knew better than to judge a book by it’s cover (or in this case, it’s title) but honestly. Was it really that hard to think of something better than ‘The Foul Fifth?’ Granted, it wasn’t the worst he’d ever heard, but it sure was up there.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Tim muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm gonna try to make the next chapters longer! Comments make me happy, and I promise I read all of them :P

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on the following if you like to watch me make a fool of myself:  
> Tumblr: popcorn-Fox  
> Twitter: @Helicake752


End file.
